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MAETHA WASHmGTON. 



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BY 



BENSON J. LOSSING. 



13G7 

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NEW YORK: 

J. C. BUTTRE, 48.rRANKJLIN STREET. 

1861. 






MASUINGCGNIANA 



ExTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, ty 

J. C. BUTTRE, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United Slates for the Southern District 
of New York. 



W. H. Tissox, Swreotyper. Geo. Ritssell 



TO THE COUNTRYWOMEN 

or 

IvI A. PI T H: A. ^TC^ -A. S li I KT C3- T O KT , 

THIS BRIEF MEMOIR 

OF. 

THKIR DISTINGUISHED FRIEND 

IS BESPECTFtJIXT 

DEDICATED. 



MARTHA ¥A8HINaT0N. 



MARTHA Washington: 



BY BENSON J. LOSSING. 



In the drawing-room at Arlington House, in 
Virginia, is a portrait of a beautiful woman, young 
and elegant, yet of matronly gravity. She is 
dressed richly, but in simple patterns and dignified 
arrangements. She is plucking a blossom from a 
shrub, apparently unconscious of the act, for her 
thoughts are evidently in the direction of her eyes 
that beam upon some more distant object. It is a 
pleasant picture, painted more than a hundred 
years ago, by Woolaston, whose praises were sung 
by the author of " The Battle of the Kegs," as 
early as 1758. It is the portrait of Martha Custis, 
a wealthy widow, and one of the most attractive 
of the women who graced the Yice-regal court at 
Williamsburg, the ancient capital of Virginia. 

Martha Dandridge, whose ancestor, first in the 
colonies, was a Welsh clergyman, was a sweet little 
girl of seventeen, when her charms of mind and 

1* 9 



\ 

10 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

person captivated the feelings of Daniel Parke, 
only son and heir of Colonel John Cnstis, one of 
the King's Councillors for Virginia. Custis was a 
proud, ambitious, and impracticable man, whose 
life had been embittered by unfortunate connubial 
relations. He had married a lady, concerning 
whom, twice in his life, he wrote with deep feel- 
ing. 

"May angels guard my dearest Fidelia," he 
wrote to her six months before marriage, " and de- 
liver her safe to my arms, at our next meeting ; 
and sure they won't refuse their protection to a 
creature so pure and charming, that it would be 
easy for them to mistake her for one of them- 
selves." Heedless of the warning of friends who 
well knew her disposition, he married her. She 
passed away in the course of years, and he again 
wrote in reference to her. It was in his last Will 
and Testament, in which he directed his son, under 
penalty of disinheritance, to' engrave upon his 
monument, after giving his name, titles and age, 
these words — " and yet lived but seven years, 
w^hich were the space of time he kept a bachelor's 
home at Arlington, on the Eastern Shore of Yir- 
ginia." 

Colonel Custis desired the beautiful and accom- 
plished Evelyn, daughter of Colonel William Byrd, 
of Westover, for his daughter-in-law ; but he was so 
exacting in his proposed pecuniary arrangements, 
that the father of the maiden was compelled to 
write to the suitor that while he should prefer him 
above all others for a son-in-law, he would no,t 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. H 

"trust to such a phantom as Colonel Custis's 
generosity." 

While negotiations between the two fathers were 
pending, little Martha Dandridge crossed the path 
of the affections of the younger Custis, and Evelyn 
Bj-rdwas almost forgotten. The ambitious Col- 
onel Custis was sadly disturbed by this change in 
the prospects of his matrimonial schemes for his 
son. He stormed, threatened disinheritance of 
fortune and parental affection, and refused to listen 
for a moment to the appeals of the one most inte- 
rested in the matter. Rumor of this state of things 
A went abroad. Martha was loved by everybody, j 
I and from every lip fell praises of her beauty, good/ 
^ sense and amiabihty, upon the ears of the foiled! 
colonel. Assailed at all points, he finally surren- 
dered, and wTote upon a piece of fair wdiite paper, 
— " I give my free consent to the union of my son 
with Miss Martha Dandridge." The friend of the 
happy suitor to whom this important document 
was handed, immediately wrote to young Custis, 
saying : 

" This comes at last to bring you the news that 
I believe will be most agreeable to you of any you 
have ever heard. That you may not be long in sus- 
pense, I shall tell you at once. I am empowered 
by your father to let you know that he heartily 
and willingly consents to your marriage with Miss 
Dandridge — that he has so good a character of her 
that he had rather you should have her than any 
lady in Virginia— nay, if possible, he is as much 



12 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

enamored with her character as you are with her 
person, and this is owing chiefly to a prudent 
speech of her own. Hurry down immediately, for 
fear he should change the strong inclination he 
has to your marrying directly. I staid with him 
all night, and presented Jack [Colonel Custis's 
favorite negro boy] with my little Jack's hoi'se, 
bridle and saddle, in your name, which was taken 
as a singular favor. I shall say no more, as I 
expect to see you soon to-morrow, but conclude 
what I really am. 

Your most obliged and affectionate humble servant, 

J. Power. 

To Col. Daniel Parke Custis, New Kent." 



The happy couple were soon afterward married, 
and the father of the bridegroom never ceased to 
rejoice in the good fortune of his son in marrying 
such a charming girl. They took up their abode 
at the White House, on the bank of the Pamun- 
key River, in New Kent County, and were blessed 
with four children. In the summer of 1757, the 
husband died, leaving Martha, at the age of twenty- 
five, one of the wealthiest widows in Virginia, and 
with beauty unimpaired. 

Toward noon on a pleasant day in May, 1758, 
a fine looking young military officer, accompanied 
by a dignified black body servant, crossed Wil- 
liams' Ferry on the Pamunkey, not far from 
its junction with the York River. He was met by 
Mr. Chamberlayne, a gentleman living near, and 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 13 

invited to his liouse to partake of its hospitalities. 
The young officer politely declined, giving, as a 
sufficient reason, the urgency of his business. He 
was just from the British and Provincial army, 
then in the early stages of its march toward Fort 
Du Quesne, and was hastening toward Williams- 
burg to lay matters of importance before the Go- 
vernor and Council of Virginia. But Chamber- 
layne, who coveted the honor of entertaining such 
a guest, and whose hospitality would never allow 
a stranger to pass by without attention, would 
listen to no excuses. He assured the soldier that 
the detention would be slight, as his dinner hour 
was early. The officer persisted in his determina- 
tion to ride on, when Chamberlayne brought a 
most potent argument to bear upon the traveller. 
He informed him that a charming young widow 
was a guest in his family, and that an interview 
with her during the dinner hour would be full 
compensation for every inconvenience that might 
be felt in riding later at night. To this argument 
the officer yielded, and accompanied the hospitable 
Virginian to his mansion. Several guests were 
there. These felt honored by the presence of the 
stranger, for it was Colonel George Washington, 
whose fame as a brave and judicious military 
leader was at that time rapidly blossoming, and 
whose name had become familiar in households 
far beyond the borders of Virginia. He was in- 
troduced to the young widow, Martha Custis, 
whose husband had then been dead about a 3'ear. 
They were nearly of the same age — he three 



14 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

months older than she. They were mutually 
pleased. 

The company sat long at table. Colonel Wash- 
ington seemed in no haste to leave it, or to take 
his departure from the house. Bishop, his faith- 
ful body-servant, who had been bequeathed to him 
by the dying Braddock, when carried from the 
bloody field of the Monongahela, had held his mas-, 
ter's horse much longer than he expected to, when 
ordered to have him in readiness immediately after 
dinner. The sun approached the western hills, 
and yet Bishop was at his post. The Colonel lin- 
gered with the charming widow, who had fairly 
captivated him ; and Bishop, to his great astonish- 
ment, was at last ordered to stable the horses for 
the night. 

It was late the next morning before Colonel 
Washington resumed his journey. The blossoms 
of May never appeared so fragrant to him. Far 
into the night had he and Mrs. Custis been closeted 
in earnest conversation ; and when the business of 
his errand to Wilhamsburg was completed, the 
young warrior repaired to the White House, the 
residence of the widow, where a marriage engage- 
ment was speedily consummated. He then has- 
tened to the army, and toiled month after month 
among the mountains in the direction of the Ohio, 
until late in November, when the troojDS that he 
commanded raised the British flag over the smok- 
ing ruins of Fort Du Quesne, which the French 
and Indians had bimied and deserted on the ap- 
proach of the invaders. Colonel Washington then 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 15 

returned to Mount Vernon, clothed in immortal 
honor. 

A brilliant comi3any of Virginia's sons and 
daughters were assembled at the White House on 
the 17th of January, 1759, Old Style. It was the 
wedding-day of the mistress of the mansion. The 
Reverend David Mossom, rector of the neighbor- 
ing parish Church of St. Peters, was the magician 
who, by the alchemy of the marriage .ritual, 
changed the name of Martha Custis to Martha 
Washington. 

"And so you remember," said the grandson of 
the bride, to old Cully, her servant, then in his 
hundredth year— " and so you remember when 
Colonel Washington came a-courting your young 
mistress ?" 

^ "Aye, master, that I do," said Cully. "Great 
times, sir; great times— shall never see the like 
again." 

"And Washington looked something like a man 
—a proper man, hey. Cully ?" 

"Never seed the like, sir— never the hke of him, 
though I have seen many in my day— so tall, so 
straight, and then he sat on a horse and rode with 
such an air ! Ah, sir, he was like no one else. 
Many of the grandest gentlemen, in the gold lace, 
were at the wedding; but none looked like the 
man himself, master." * 

Washington was then an attendant member of 
the Virginia House of Burgesses, and for three 
months, while official duties detained him at Wil- 

* Custis's Recollections of Washington. 



16 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

liamsburg, he resided at the White House. At 
the close of the session he returned to Mount Ver- 
non, taking with him his bride and her two sur- 
viving chikh'en, John Parke and Martha Parke 
Custis. Then commenced that sweet domestic hfe 
at Mount Yernon, which always possessed a most 
powerful charm for its illustrious owner. "I am 
now, I believe," he wrote to a kinsman in London, 
"fixed in this seat with an agreeable partner for 
life, and I hope to find more happiness in retire- 
ment than I ever experienced in the wide and 
bustling world." 

Mrs. Washington, at the time of her second mar- 
riage, was nearly seven-and-twenty years of age. 
She was a small, plump, elegantly formed woman. 
" Her eyes," we have elsewhere said, " were dark, 
and expressive of the most kindly good nature ; 
her complexion fair ; her features beautiful ; and 
her whole face beamed with intelligence. Her 
temper, though quick, was sweet and placable, and 
her manners were extremely winning. She was 
full of life, loved the society of her friends, always 
dressed with a scrupulous regard to the require- 
ments of the best fashions of the day, and was, in 
every respect, a brilliant member of the social circle 
which, before the Revolution, composed the Vice- 
regal court at the old Virginia capital,"* 

Mount Vernon was one of the centres of a most 
delightful society along the Potomac, and Mrs. 
Washington presided as mistress there, with great 
dignity and urbanity. The mansion was seldom 

* Mount Vernou and its Asi^ociations. 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 17 

without guests, either ijermanent visitors or neigh- 
bors who came to join Washington in the sports'of 
the chase. These generally dined at Mount Yernon 
toward the close of the day, and frequently spent 
the night there. 

Although Mrs. Washington was a devoted mo- 
ther, and domestic in her tastes and habits, yet in 
all the years preceding the Revolution, she was 
much abroad with her husband, and was frequently 
seen with him at the theatres and dancing assem- 
bHes at AnnapoHs and Williamsburg, the respec- 
tive capitals of Maryland and Virginia. She had 
at her disposal a chariot and four horses, with 
black postilhons in livery, for the use of herself 
and lady visitors ; and her equipage was frequently 
seen upon the road between Mount Yernon and 
Alexandria, or the adjacent estates. 

Domestic happiness at Mount Yernon appeared 
to be unalloyed, until the year 1773, when death 
took from Mrs. Washington her daughter, Martha 
Parke, a girl of rare beauty, sixteen years of age, 
whose complexion had won for her the common 
appellation of " the dark lady." That trial was a 
severe one for the fond mother, and almost equally 
so for the step-father, who loved the maiden as if 
she had been his own child. Coming home after a 
long absence on pubhc business, he found her in 
the last stages of consumption. He knelt at her 
bedside and offered up fervent prayers for her re- 
covery. But the inexorable summons had gone 
forth. She died ■ and Washington, who had made 
arrangements for a journey into the wilderness. 



18 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

with Lord Dunmore, the governor, remained at 
home to soothe his wife, and recover, himself, from 
the shock of sudden bereavement. 

Less than two years afterward, Mrs. Washington 
was called to endure other trials. War had been 
kindled between England and her American 
colonies. It partook largely of the most bitter 
civil discord in its practical effects. Neighbor was 
arrayed against neighbor, family against family, 
and sometimes brother against brother. The Fair- 
faxes of Belvoir became the political antagonists 
of the Masons of Gunston Hall and the Washing- 
tons of Mount Vernon. The delightful social life, 
so long enjoyed in that neighborhood, was changed. 
Instead of peace, and confidence, and kind feel- 
ings, there was strife, and distrust, and heart- 
burnings. There was isolation and alienation 
everywhere. 

Washington was called, first to the Senate of 
the revolted colonies, and then to the chief com- 
mand of their armies ; and his wife was widowed 
most of the time for more than seven years. She 
managed domestic affairs, in the midst of the con- 
fusion and frequent alarms, with fortitude, vigor, 
and prudence. In winter she visited the camp, 
and was an honored guest at the he ad- quarters of 
the army. " Lady Washington, God bless her!" 
was the toast at every convivial assemblage of the 
soldiers of every rank. At Cambridge, at New 
York, at Morristown, Middlebrook, Whitemarsh, 
and Yalley Forge, at Princeton and Newburgh, 
she was ever the delight of the camp and of the 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 19 

neighborhood, wherever the flag of the Great 
Leader was unfurled. 

At length the allied armies of America and 
France marched to the deadly conflict at York- 
town. Mrs. Washington's son, and only remain- 
ing child, accompanied the chief as aid-de-camp, 
leaving his young wifCj a scion of the noble family 
of Lord Baltimore, and their infant children, un- 
der the sheltering roof of Mount Vernon. Eagerly 
did that household look for couriers from the 
camp. At length, on a frosty morning, one came 
in hot haste. He announced the victory over 
Cornwallis, and there was great joy at Mount Ver- 
non. With the next breath, he told them of the 
severe illness of the son and husband. Then there 
was silence and sadness, and hasty preparations 
for a journey. The wife sped to the bedside of 
her sick husband. His bright lamp of life had 
dwindled to a flickering taper. Washington soon 
came to the same chamber, from the field of vic- 
tory, thirty miles distant. " I was there " he 
wrote to Lafayette, " in time to see poor Mr. Cus- 
tis breathe his last." In that hour the 3'oung wife 
was made a widow, and the mistress of Mount 
Vernon a childless woman. The great man 
bowed his laurelled head in deep sorrow, whilst 
his tears flowed freely. Then he spoke soothing 
words to the widowed mother, and said : '^ Your 
two younger children I adopt as my own." They 
were placed in the bosom of the smitten Lady 
Washington, in compensation for the loss of her 
own children ; and when the canker of grief, 



20 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

left the root of lier affections, tliey were in- 
grafted upon the stem, and bore in abundance the 
blossoms and fruit of filial love, that solaced her 
declining years. They were pleasant lamps in 
the dwelling at that twilight hour of her life, 
when the chief luminary had been removed, and 
extinguished by the vapors of the tomb. 

After the peace of 1783, Mount Vernon became 
a point of great attraction to distinguished visitors 
from Europe and the several American States. 
Hospitality was administered there on a liberal 
scale. Mrs. Washington performed its ceremonies 
with charming gaiety and sweetness, yet never 
forgetting, in the entertainment of guests, the more 
sober duties of a thorough Virginia housewife. 
She always presided at the table, and contributed 
her full share to the enjoyment of the hour. Her 
simple elegance of appearance and deportment, 
always commanded the admiration of friends and 
strangers ; and when her husband was made the 
Chief Magistrate of the nation, and she became 
the conventional central figure in metropolitan 
society, her simple habits remained unchanged, 
and her larger household was arranged upon the 
frugal model of her home at Mount Vernon. She 
and her illustrious husband gave a marked exam- 
ple of Republican simplicity in their daily life — a 
simplicity regulated, however, by the most uncom- 
promising dignity demanded by their exalted posi- 
tion. ' ' The example of the President and his fa- 
mily," wrote Oliver Wolcott to his wife, " will ren- 
der parade and expense improper and disreputable." 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 21 

The weekly public receptions of Mrs Wash- 
ington, like those of the President, were 
simple and dignified. She was averse to all 
ostentatious show and parade, yet she fully 
appreciated the gravity of her position, and 
was careful to exact those courtesies to which 
she was entitled. Her visitors on such occasions 
were only those persons who were connected with 
the Government, and their families ; foreign ambas- 
sadors and government agents, and their families ; 
and others who held good positions in fashionable 
and refined society, either on their own account, 
or their social relations. All were expected to be 
in full dress on those occasions. 

The reception, which was always in the evening, 
was never allowed to last beyond the hour ap- 
pointed, which was from eight to nine. She was 
careful not to allow public ceremonies to interfere 
with some of the life-long habits of herself and 
husband. He was usually at her side, and when 
the clock struck nine, she would say to those pre- 
sent, with a most complacent smile, "The Gen- 
eral always retires at nine, and I usually precede 
him." In a few minutes the drawing-room would 
be closed, and the lights extinguished ; and the 
Presidential Mansion would be as dark and quiet 
before ten o'clock, as the home of any private 
citizen. 

The restraints of metropolitan life were very irk- 
some to Mrs. Washington. She was compelled to 
be governed by the etiquette prescribed for her. 
Under this discipline she was very restive, and 



22 MARTHA WASHINGTON. . 

often yearned for the freedom and pure delights of 
her quiet home on the bank of the Potomac. To 
the wife of the President's nephew, she wrote : 

" I Hve a very dull life here, and know nothing 
that passes in the town. I never go to any public 
place — indeed I think I am more like a State pri- 
soner than anything else. There are certain bounds 
set for me which I must not depart from ; and, as 
I cannot do as I like, I am obstinate, and stay at 
home a great deal." 

Mrs. Washington always spoke of the time when 
she was in public life, as her " lost days." She 
was in every respect, a model of a thrifty house- 
keeper. All day long that careful, bustling, indus- 
trious little woman kept her hands in motion. ' ' Let 
us repair to the old lady's room," wrote Mrs. 
Colonel Carrington from Mount Vernon, to her 
sister, a short time before Washington's death : 

" Let us repair to the old lady's room, which is 
precisely in the style of our good old aunt's — that 
is to say, nicely fixed for all sorts of work. On 
one side sits the chamber maid, with her knitting ; 
on the other, a little colored pet learnmg to sew. 
,A decent old woman is there, with her table and 
shears, cutting out the negroes' winter clothes, 
while the good old lady directs them all, incessantly 
knitting herself. She points out to me several 
pair of nice colored stockings and gloves she had 
just finished, and presents me with a pair, half 
done, which she begs I will finish and wear for her 
sake. It is wonderful, after a life spent as these 
good people have necessarily spent theirs, to see 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 23 

them, in retirement, assume those domestic habits 
that prevail in our country." 

Yet household duties never kept Martha Wash- 
ington from daily communion with God, in the 
sohtude of her closet. She was a very early riser, 
leaving her pillow at dawn, at every season of 
the year. After breakfast, she invariably retired 
to her chamber, where she remained an hour read- 
ing the Scriptures, and engaged in thanksgiving 
and prayer. For more than half a century she 
practised such devotions in secret ; and visitors 
often remarked that when she appeared after the 
hour of spiritual exercises, her countenance beamed 
with ineffable sweetness. 

When almost seventy years of age, Mrs. Wash- 
ington was called to endure her last great life 
trial. Her illustrious husband, with whom she 
had lived happily forty years, was suddenly smit- 
ten by disease while in the full vigor of health ; 
and after suffering less than twenty-four hours, his 
mighty spirit left for its home with the Omnipo- 
tent Father. The blow was sudden and unex- 
pected to the bereaved wife. She bore it with the 
fortitude of a faithful Christian. When, as she sat 
at the foot of the bed of her dying friend, his de- 
parture was announced by the waving of an atten- , 
dant's hand, " 'Tis well," she said. "All is now 
over ; I shall soon follow him ; I have no more 
trials to pass through." 

Her solemn prophecy was soon fulfilled. A little 
more than two years after her husband's death, she 
joined him. A fever consumed her. Conscious 



24 MARTHA WASHINGTON. 

that the hour of her departure was near, she spoke 
to her assembled grand-children and other rela- 
tives, of the value of Religion as the Great Com- 
forter of the soul, and discoursed to them concern- 
ing the practical duties of life, and the infinite 
importance of unceasing well-doing. Then com- 
mending them and her own spirit to the care of 
their G-reat Creator, she closed her eyes, and while 
in secret prayer, her spirit took wing for the Land 
of the Blessed. 

Side by side, in white marble sarcophigi, near 
the bank of the Potomac and the Home they loved 
so well, repose the ashes of 

GEORGE 



MARTHA WASHINGTON. 









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